THE town’s in a panic, from peer to mechanic,
Since Banting has issued his Tract
for the Times;
That queer publication made such a
sensation,
That corpulence now seems the greatest of crimes.
Folks fancy good feeding a proof of ill breeding,
And stick to low diet through thick and through thin,
Till they find that their best coats, and trousers, and waistcoats,
Are perfectly “done for,” if not “taken in.”
Each day it grows harder to find a good larder.
And lean diners-out will, of course, suffer most;
For those who are thinnish won’t care to diminish
What little they ‘ve got for the sake of the host.
But the House of Correction will grant them protection,
(Supposing Society starves them outright,)
Where pickers and stealers and such evil dealers
Are feasted like aldermen morning and night.
Sincerely I pity our friends in the City,
And Mansion-House banquets cut short in their prime,
Where, ‘mid roses and myrtle, the love of mock-turtle
”Now melts into sorrow, now maddens to crime.”
If I were a sheriff, I ‘d never be terrified
Into adopting this Barmecide tone;
For I ‘d throw up my station in their corporation
Before they induced me to part with my own!
If you wish to grow thinner, diminish your dinner,
And take to light claret instead of pale ale;
Look down with an utter contempt upon butter,
And never touch bread till it’s toasted—or stale.
You must sacrifice gaily six hours or so daily
To muscular exercise, outdoor and in;
While a very small number devoted to slumber
Will make a man healthy, and wealthy, and thin!
